


Not Afraid

by AddisonNoxy



Series: Agents of the New Squidbeak Splatoon [3]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: Eight goes through a lot, Gen, Octo Expansion DLC Spoilers, T for Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddisonNoxy/pseuds/AddisonNoxy
Summary: Agent 3 had been Eight's greatest fear ever since they met two years ago. How was she supposed to feel now, after that same girl saved her life?
Series: Agents of the New Squidbeak Splatoon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970149
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	Not Afraid

Eight’s breathing was ragged as she fled the shape of that ghost which haunted her, the Inkling’s eyes cold and unseeing underneath the thick veil of teal ink which coated her head.

The Octolings had used many different words to refer to the teenaged Inkling who stormed their bases, words that grew alarmingly serious as the situation escalated. Pest. Child. Nuisance. Threat. Agent. Menace. More than once she had heard fellow operatives calling the girl a _demon_ , carving a steady path through the military’s forces with grim determination that was unlike the carefree smiles worn by her comrades on the surface.

The reports were unnerving, to say the least. Outposts one after the other were going dark. New districts that had been painstakingly built using the energy from the zapfish were being plunged into shadow as the Inkling reclaimed them, leaving empty halls and ink-stained battlefields. A hard-won advantage over the surface dwellers was being effortlessly destroyed. And the Great Octoweapons, machines of war designed for the sole purpose of destroying Inklings, fell one by one. The Agent knew no mercy in her wrathful mission, striking down any Octarian who was unfortunate enough to meet her gaze. The might of the Octarian military was nothing, paper trash in a hurricane.

Agent 8 had the displeasure of encountering this girl only once, during a routine patrol. Though her other memories of life underground were hazy, a puzzle with pieces that didn’t fit, she clearly remembered the blaring alarm which had summoned her unit to the zapfish field. It had become plain early on that retrieval of the zapfish was the New Squidbeak Splatoon’s primary objective, rather than simple devastation of their forces. That was why, when the Agent was spotted nearby and on the move, Eight, seven other elites and two field commanders were given an emergency reassignment in an attempt to protect the lightning creatures which were powering that district.

It hadn’t been enough. With growing trepidation, Eight had waited at her post, listening to the cries of pain and calls for aid which crackled through her headset, urgency in every note. After three minutes she could hear them in the air, so close had the fighting become. Her weapons shook in her hands. Her breathing was unsteady, chest heaving uncomfortably as her brain clouded over.

To hear destruction coming your way, and to remain at your post regardless, is a terrifying experience without equal.

And when the Splatoon’s Agent 3 finally came within visual range, she was like a giant thundering across the turf. The emergency sprinklers and ink walls did nothing to deter her. She did not stop. She did not pause. Eight flinched when their eyes met, struggling to maintain her posture.

Her commander’s voice ordered her to advance, and she swallowed, attempting to use her duty to shut out the fear. She and her comrade sprang forward in unison, weapons drawn; as the junior operative, she was to be used as a distraction. Attract the Inkling’s attention for long enough to let the other operative land a decisive blow. If they could splat the Agent even once, then whether or not she had snuck another rejuvenator into their territory, it would show that the girl was not invincible.

The battle lasted seconds. Eight closed the distance instantly, dual pistols flaring, coating the field in ink, but not a drop landed on the squid. She was too quick, lithe and springing. For a moment that stretched into eternity they danced around each other, Eight’s commander shouting to allow her ally a clear shot, when suddenly the Inkling broke free from her reach, gliding in squid form down a trail of ink that Agent 8 only now realized had never been meant to splat her.

The girl was making a break for the last zapfish.

Hearts pounding, orders shrieking, weapons slick in her hands, she pursued the Agent against all of her instincts. Agent 3 suddenly reformed, half-turned to face her with her Splattershot aimed squarely between the eyes, and Eight’s mind utterly stalled.

She desperately tried to stop, but there was nothing she could do.

A single shot, and with a sharp sting and the feeling of her own rupturing form, everything went black.

When Eight returned to consciousness, the emergency lights were flashing up above, the only respite in the sea of darkness that was left in the wake of the Agent’s advance. They had lost the zapfish again. Ten Octolings working in concert had been utterly played with by a single Inkling teenager. Flickers of the district now eclipsed in darkness were all that Eight had managed to obtain.

When the field commander found Eight, ten minutes after she was meant to report for debriefing, the girl was still huddled in a corner of the rejuvenation chamber, weapons and headset discarded next to her, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. She had seen the other squad members who fell to Agent 3; they all wore poorly-disguised fear on their faces, mixing with shock and discontent. It was inconceivable that a spoiled, rowdy child from the surface was singlehandedly achieving victory against the military.

But it was also the truth. And that child had touched something primal inside of Eight. Her legs wouldn’t obey her. She couldn’t stand. Despite her commander standing directly in front of her, expression grim and disapproving, all she could remember was that terrifying presence which had laid waste to her unit.

Irritated, and clearly against her own judgment, the commander had ordered Eight to take four days of rest, to ‘regain your senses.’

Agent 8 had nightmares for those four nights, and for many nights after.

The next and only other time she saw the Agent was during the Inkling’s duel against DJ Octavio, the Octarians’ last line of defense. All around her, the Octolings cheered on their general as he resisted the Inkling’s rain of ink, though Eight could only see the figure of the young girl that was steadily pushing Octavio back.

And then she heard it. The enchanting song which was broadcast to their forces over Octavio’s hijacked radio station. Eight and the others watched on, the battle all but forgotten, the sound of the Calamari Inkantation wiping away everything else. She could hear the surface in those notes. It was as if the Squid Sisters sang directly to her, calling to her, promising her a life without darkness and fear. She dreamed of Inkopolis that night.

After that day, Agent 8 sought information on the surface world which she had never seen. Discarded magazines that fell through the cracks, the colorful wrappers of sugary foodstuffs that found their way down into the underground, even something as little as a field scout’s report of the fashions which the Inklings wore. Every day the Inklings saw a new sky - the _sky_ , so endlessly vast and high above. Eight would look at the roof of their great undersea domes and imagine what the sky was like.

For two years the Splatoon agent was mostly pushed from her mind, returning to her thoughts only in her darker dreams. Her life returned to how it had been before the zapfish operation, but now she felt stifled and confined in this place, even more than she already had. The surface and its denizens were all she could think about. She received demerits for poor attention, for lackluster dedication - many Octolings who had heard the Inkantation had been subject to such measures, reassigned to new units or detained for reevaluation of their loyalties. Eight read the signs in the air and attempted to keep her head down, but she was unable to forget that melody. She would hum it to herself when nobody was around.

But one day, she must have messed up. She received a slip ordering her to report to command for reevaluation. Eight knew that this was her moment.

The details of her escape, and of her arrival in the Kamabo Co subway system, were still a blur to her. Whatever happened had robbed her of her memories, and Eight awoke in the metro with no knowledge of who she was. Even so, with her fragmented thoughts and the cruelty of her situation ever-present, the Octoling felt a shudder run along her back whenever Captain Cuttlefish spoke of Agent 3. She hadn’t yet recalled who that was, but the name filled her with dread.

And then, when it seemed like she and her dreams of Inkopolis would die together in that horrible machine, she was finally able to put a face to the name. In an instant, crashing through the ceiling glass, the Agent appeared in response to the distress call which Marina had broadcast. That grim countenance brought back a flood of memories which washed over Eight like a riptide. Terror seized her, but she didn’t even have time to scream; the Agent flew down from above and smashed through the death machine, knocking the wind from her body as she was hurled through the air.

And when she had caught her breath, danger signals blaring, the machine was destroyed. She looked around, trying to locate that terrible figure, and found Agent 3 unconscious on the floor, knocked out by her own acrobatics.

Something clicked inside of Agent 8 at that moment. Something small, a tiny shift, but she felt it clearly as she gazed down at the crumpled body of the Splatoon’s weapon in Inkling form. It had been two years since she had laid eyes on Agent 3, but could that explain why she felt so unfamiliar with the girl’s face? This was no monster of the battlefield, no awful fanged countenance surging grimly and inevitably forward to wash her away. What lay before her was a senseless teenager. Subconsciously, Eight had started to reach out, fingers outstretched towards the girl’s face, a desire growing within her to confirm that the towering shadow from her nightmares was only an Inkling, just as fallible as the rest.

But this was no time to indulge in curiosity. Agent 3 had given them an opportunity - helped her, saved her. And at the Captain’s command, grateful for the excuse, Eight sprang away, fleeing from her thoughts deeper into the facility. She bit back her emotions, focusing on the task at hand. She must be focused if she was going to escape from the metro. She climbed higher, Pearl and Marina’s music driving her to climb, driving her towards the sky.

And then, when the surface was in her grasp - when she was about to emerge into the sun and the wind - once again, there was Agent 3, weapon in hand. Her eyes were every bit as cold and merciless as Eight remembered. And she descended with an impact like a thunderclap, that horrible teal ink slowly spreading as if to consume her face.

Trapped in an arena with two nightmares, the Splatoon Agent and that _vile_ ink which had dissolved her flesh countless times, Eight struggled to even defend herself against the attack. She fled as much as the confined space would allow, Pearl and Marina attempting to encourage her through the communicator. Their voices sounded distant and tinny to Eight. She was back in that dismal district, doomed to be robbed of its power, trapped between a voice in a speaker and her greatest fear. Her legs were shaking, refusing to obey as her instincts screamed at her to run, to get away. It took all of the Octoling’s strength just to look out from the cover of the wall she had taken shelter behind, taking in the sight of the Agent as she advanced.

And when she did so, another little something in her mind shifted, and she saw not the specter of the past, but the girl who lay unconscious on the floor.

This was not a demon. This was a girl, whose actions were not currently her own. Her other thoughts, her fears and doubts, drained away as she gazed at Agent 3’s emotionless face.

She grimaced, willing her hands to steady.

And then she fought. Eight skirted the borders of Agent 3’s attacks, returning fire, peppering the girl with violet ink. She seemed sluggish, stiff. Was it because of the phone’s control over her, inexperienced at guiding Agent 3’s body, or had she always fought this way? Was Eight that much stronger now, or was she just emerging from the shadow of the name that her peers had granted to the Agent?

Eight was victorious. She conquered that awful image, dissolved the ink which imprisoned Agent 3’s mind. And once more she stood over the girl’s unconscious body, vulnerable and mortal. The terrible Agent of her memories seemed like so much smoke. Eight regarded Agent 3 in silence, her brain in conflict. One way or another, she decided that she would settle this for herself. No matter how many of her memories returned, she wouldn’t feel whole until she knew where she stood with this young soldier.

And so, when the battle above was won, and Agent 3 was conscious once more, Eight watched from a distance. The captain greeted her like an old friend, a treasured disciple, and though Agent 3 didn’t share in the smiles of those around her, the Octoling saw a glimmer in her eyes which betrayed some happiness that must lurk beneath the surface. Emotion. Warmth.

As the helicopter smoothly crossed the skies above Inkopolis bay, Eight treaded a path to the Agent’s side, seating herself carefully. Agent 3 met her gaze, eyebrows raised in surprise. Forcing herself to swallow down her lingering fears, Eight opened her mouth.

“I - I am - we have... met…”

Stuttered and soft, nothing short of embarrassing. Eight put a hand to her face, groaning inwardly, as she tried to think of some way to salvage any kind of respect out of such an awful first impression - 

“We have? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.”

Her hand dropped, shock spreading across her face as she looked at Agent 3. The Inkling had spoken simply, her hands in her lap and her expression neutral. Eight narrowed her eyes, searching for any traces of malice or self-satisfaction in the girl’s eyes, but she found none.

Well, she supposed that was to be expected, considering the sheer volume of Octolings that Agent 3 had defeated. Eight sighed, replying, “I protected the zapfish. We fought as you were making them off.”

“Oh.” the girl remarked. “Sorry. Again.”

Sorry.

The Agent was sorry.

Eight had not expected that. She didn’t know _what_ she was expecting from this conversation. Gloating about her victory over the Octarians? A suggestion to put the past behind them? Simple, stoic silence? But what she hadn’t anticipated was a simple, naked apology.

Agent 3 noticed the dumbstruck look on her face, pursing her lips. “I guess that doesn’t mean much, does it?” she wondered aloud. “But I don’t know what else I can say.”

“...I feared you.” Eight said quietly.

The Agent blinked. “For weeks,” she continued, feelings clashing within her, “I would have nightmares of your face, coming to destroy us. Coming to be taking our lights and leave us nothing. My friends, they told me of the Agent who was Inkling vengeance, who was angry and would pay back to us ten times what we had taken. The day I was fighting you, Agent 3, was the worst day of my life.”

Eight gripped the edges of her skirt tightly, feeling her shoulders shaking as she struggled to hold back tears. “And then, when I was being trapped in this awful place… when even more than in my home, it was dark, and I was in pain… I was meeting you again. And you are saving me. And I cannot be knowing how to feel as I sit here, Agent 3, when you were in every nightmare I was having for two years.”

A single sob escaped her. “And I am thinking, how can we be friends?”

Agent 3’s gaze softened as she looked at the Octoling, crying silently with her head bowed against the rising sun. Eight wiped at her eyes, unable to look at the girl, unable to decide how she should act or what she should say. How was she supposed to know? After spending days in that torturous metro, how could she possibly know how to deal with coming to confront her greatest fears in the span of half an hour?

“It was never about vengeance, if that helps.” Agent 3 offered. Eight paused. “I never wanted to hurt the Octarians. But I couldn’t just let them take the zapfish, either. Captain Cuttlefish… all of Inkopolis was depending on me. I didn’t want to let them down.”

The girl gazed out over the looming metropolis, easing herself into a more reclined position. “I didn’t want you to be afraid of me, and I wasn’t angry. If anything, _I_ was scared. Asking one kid to fight a war is ridiculous. When I first started my job as Agent 3, I was awful at it. I couldn’t shoot straight, and I would panic and fall off of ledges.”

Agent 8 hadn’t heard anything about that. As far as she was aware, the Agent had always been monstrous, effortlessly dispatching entire squads of Octolings by herself. She glanced up to take in the sight of the Inkling who was looking pensively towards Inkopolis.

“But I knew it was an important job.” she continued. “It was about protecting Inkopolis. To me, that’s what it was always about. I’ve spent the last two years thinking about how to keep my home safe. I guess it never occurred to me to think about how you all felt, when I went back to the surface and left you in the dark.”

The girl offered a hand to Agent 8. “I’m sorry I scared you.” she said simply. “I would love to be friends, if you’d have me.”

Eight looked down at that thin, pale hand, words failing her completely. As she hesitated, Agent 3 frowned. “Are you still scared of me?” she asked.

She hadn’t imagined it. There was worry in the Agent’s voice. The Octoling looked up to meet Agent 3’s concerned expression. The sun shone behind her, its light gently falling between them and carrying away the darkness that had shrouded that face for two years.

“No.” Agent 8 answered softly, taking the girl’s hand and squeezing it gently.

Not anymore.


End file.
